perpetual_insanity Sonya The sun rose. Its fiery rays melted into the light blue sky and faded quickly away as the rush hour began. The sky's baby blue hue vanished as the grey of pollution awoke. On the east side of the bay regular joes and janes sipped coffee and gorged themselves on cold low fat-high calcium cereal as another Monday was beginning. College students awoke warily after pulling yet another all nighter because they tried to hold onto their youth Saturday night. Somehow seeing the sunrise then did not compare to Monday morning when they wished they lived in a wigwam in Timbuktu. Babies cried for milk and changing. Children who loved to wake up at insanely early hours Saturday morning whined about wanting to stay home. Corporate employees chugged more espresso in hopes that they would numb their brains enough to excuse the fact that they were not happy in their neat little cubicles or behind their shiny cash registers. Car engines started. Bus drivers began the early morning rush. Their routes would be filled with people...different yet all the same. They would notice the older ones wary from years of this same tired routine. They would notice younger ones who were well on their way with their fatigued bloodshot eyes. The children would be sent to a place called an "elementary school" where information would be force fed into their brains. They would pledge allegiance to a flag of a nation they may never fully understand. They would be totally unaware of the disillusion looming around the corner that would bite into their hope in their teens and twenties. Yuppies and oldies alike would commute to the city by the bay. The majesty of its skyscrapers, the suffocation of its noises, and the grandeur of its many cultures within would overwhelm and attract them at the same time. They would cross the bay bridge coming out from Oakland, Berkeley, and Hayward. After passing Treasure Island the city would pop up out of nowhere and slap them in the face cruelly. The day would just begin. Everyone would be watching their clocks. First the anticipation would be focused towards the first morning break when a trip to the water fountain or cooler would be like a vacation to Fiji. Then the hopes of all would shift towards lunch when Chinese take-out and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches offered the consolation of delicious delectables or simply a parent's love. The hours would drag on. At 3 pm the children would be free to return home where they would try to postpone homework and perhaps prolong their youth just a little while longer. At 5 and 6 the adults would be free. They would all load back into their cars, buses, and BART. (For those of you not from here, BART is the SF bay's version of NY's subway system.) 7 pm would finally appear after a delayed appearance. Fashionably late never seemed so longed for. Families would sit down for a dinner, whether dysfunctional or saccharin laced. College students would take a break from their homework or grab a quick bite to eat before going to work after a day of classes. They would be asking themselves if it was all really worth it....just so they could end up like their older numb counterparts. They would try to convince themselves that sleep deprivation was normal and it wouldn't burn them out. The children would still be rambunctious. They would again try to prolong their youth and hope to convince their guardians to let them stay up just a little while longer. They would be fully aware of the value of the night and its possibilities for fun. Then a loud "no" would shatter their hopes until tomorrow night. The lights all across the bay would light up and sparkle beautifully. The night workers would be on their way...they would be repeating the same routines of the day workers only they wouldn't have to shield their eyes every now and then. Restaurant employees would be contributing their parts in the routine and hope that the customers would eat faster so they could go home. The moon would shimmer on the water of the bay and long for a hug. It would cry out silently as a few lovers gaze at it while the rest of the populace tried to sleep, cram for tomorrow's exam, write checks for bills, or sing their children to sleep. All would be calm for awhile. Dreams and the soft hums of gentle breathing would prevail for a couple of hours. Desk lamps would dimly light up dorm rooms as young Joes and Janes stopped cramming and started making out. In the end...all of this would continue perpetually year after year. They would all fail to notice what they were really living for. It was not so much how much money they were making, how many good grades they received that semester in order to look good for a possible internship or whether they did all their math worksheets correctly so their teachers would be pleased and their parents would buy them those action figures or Barbie dolls. They failed to notice that they lived for the small moments they strived to make for themselves where they were actually happy. This was what life was about. It was not about appeasing society on the whole by being like the next Joe or Jane. It was not about saving up for that BMW or those Gucci heels. It was NOT about Pokemon cards. None of them would see this until the routines had rotted out their optimism. They would celebrate Christmas, Passover, Ramadan, and Chinese New Year and experience some brief joy (or depression). Birthdays would come and go. Weddings would unite people and force them to combine their routines and longings. Children would grow up and be inches closer to being fully sucked in. San Francisco would remain defiant. She would try to continue balancing the corporate takeover of her flesh with the aging history and the artistic endeavors of her citizens. She would stick her neck up higher over the cloud of smog that strangled her more each day. Ignorance isn't necessarily bliss. It just tides you over until your eyes fully develop. I sometimes claim to be insane but I'm just a fake, a fraud, a dare I say...wannabe. I only wish I didn't see all of this because maybe my happier moments would shine more brightly if the homeless weren't sitting in front of restaurant windows on Market St. or if there was some miraculous way for our youth to be recovered. I often tell people I lost my sanity years ago. Perhaps I did when I thought such routines were magical. I see it all now. I'll seize my chance to break free from the pattern and you will call me crazy. You will say I'm being irrational and selfish...well I'll send you a postcard to numb you a little longer. You better go back to your cuddly cubicle. Your espresso is getting cold. "Have a nice day!" 020513 what's it to you? who go blather from